If this is true, it gave the big man a breathing space, and if the man really is Lilstein the Gestapo won’t pick him up until the end of 1937.
Two weeks after the business in the music shop, Lena spoke to Goebbels, an excellent evening, he had just listened to her singing, they were in a window recess, covert looks directed at them, respectful of their privacy, they spoke about Goethe, Goebbels was paying attention, he was just realising that she knew Goethe better than he did, yes, I also acted in Schiller, The Brigands, while I was still at school, Minister, and in German, I learned German when I was very young, it’s very easy for us northern peoples, Lena was almost one metre eighty tall, just by standing next to him she was saying to him I at least am a true Aryan, he asked if she would come on a visit to a new motor-car factory.
He was then in the process of organising a grand occasion, present would be the Prince of Wales, Herr Neuville, Herr Lindberg, the aristocratic old guard, capitalist success, airborne audacity, the German people, its leaders, a vehicle for the people, the participation of Fraülein Hellström would impress on the day the seal of art, surely you’re not short of fine singers in the Reich, Minister, women whom I think of as examples, in the end she accepted, they’d started discussing what she’d sing, something by Wolf, a setting to a poem by Goethe, and something by Wagner, she was very keen to do the song of Mignon, as to the Wagner, she left the Minister free to choose, she hummed a few arias, Goebbels in seventh heaven.
In the middle of an aria she broke off, which would you rather, Minister, a friend of Germany whom one does not have followed by morons, or a singer who returns suddenly to New York saying Berlin is becoming intolerable? I can also have the question put to the Führer by one of my friends, or ask him myself next week.
Goebbels knew full well why she wanted to be rid of her guardian angels, mature woman, the bourgeois women of the Third Reich do not like her, imagine, she has lovers but no husband.
The greedy forties, the age for large-scale consumption of airmen, classically handsome lieutenants not eager to continue consorting with a woman watched by the Gestapo, nor attracted by the idea of having one fine morning to write a report which would include everything they’d done with the lady.
Also hint of a smoke-screen. You know how diplomats hate this kind of complication, de Vèze. Well, to relieve the pressure, she resumed her routine activities, boldness, cool head, professionalism, Washington recognises that she is doing great work and she makes the most of the situation to idolise aviators, a passion for airborne encounters, the new production models, sometimes she disappears for two days with an airman, in the country, once I was in Berlin, she’d just returned from one such fling, I said to her these are the days of your youth, she understood and said I had a mind like a sewer, we laughed a lot.
Until one night when it all goes very wrong, she’s at the wheel of her big Mercedes, road between Stuttgart and Tübingen, late ’37, on the back seat a man, asleep, smelling of whisky, actually it wasn’t a Mercedes, those big Mercedes had Nazi written all over them, she had a more unusual car, more aristocratic, superb wire wheels, the man on the back seat is wearing a dinner jacket, but next to him is the cap and tunic of a Luftwaffe officer, Lena is driving fast, too fast, her passion, night-driving, headlights of approaching vehicles visible from afar, sporty driving style, double-declutch, avoid braking, she can throw a twelve-cylinder beast into a bend, a controlled skid.
Star-filled night, she hums a tune and has to stop at a large security road-block, not road police but a mixture of gendarmes and SS, papers please, American passport, the voices of the men as metallic as ever but less brutal, they’re not going to bother her, smell of whisky, torch shining on the back seat, the sleeper is in an ethylic stupor, silence all round, the soldiers tense up, an NCO has gone to get an officer, who sends for another officer, Lena caught something like Oberst or Oberstleutnant, she never understood about ranks, must be a commanding officer.
When he comes the soldiers stand to attention, he walks with a limp, more torch waving, the tunic on the back seat, commanding officer’s voice, a soft fashionable drawl, may I ask the identity of your passenger, Madame? she gets out of the car, opens the back door, pushing a soldier out of her way: his name’s Ulrich, he’s my lover.
She lights a cigarette to calm her rising fury, throws it down after the second drag on it, my lover is drunk as a skunk, a session with his colleagues, he’s not in the mood for love, I can’t stand it, I leave him to you, write a report and take him back to his field-marshal, he should have been back on duty by this time, let this be a lesson to him.
Around her half a dozen SS have suddenly replaced the gendarmes, one of the SS men is holding a lantern, the commanding officer has burn scars over all his face, he has recognised Lena, he is sinister, he too peers into the back of the car, the triage at the gates of hell, deliberate movements, the deliberation of the sadist, eyes boring into Lena’s eyes, anything but a fool, a man in this state at your side Madame is, to say the least, surprising, at this hour, on this road? Will you allow me another question? another glance inside the car, at the cap and the tunic, you said Ulrich, is that Flugleutnant Ulrich? And the conclusion comes: by your side, in this state, is he not sufficiently punished? He is a warrior, flying is an extremely dangerous occupation, he is already sufficiently punished, you may go, Madame, solid drinking with comrades is a tradition of the German people and her warriors, sometimes we have to drink to forget and to be the better man the next day, a man is a man, forgive him on this occasion, in this state, by your side, sufficiently punished, dangerous occupation.
The commanding officer gives a sign to an SS man who steps forward, chalks a mark on the inside of the windscreen, my regards, Madame, and my unalloyed admiration, he clicks his heels, points to the chalk mark, that will ensure you won’t be bothered again, he then limps back towards the next vehicle, Lena sets off again.
Two days later Ulrich is sent for by Goering, three generals are there, Goering curtly: Lieutenant Ulrich, when an officer of my Luftwaffe has his eye on one of the most alluring weapons in the enemy’s arsenal what should he do? Ulrich standing to attention, voice metallic, impeccable: fire all guns, quick bursts, direct hits, Marshal — laughs all round which bounce back off the marble walls of the huge office, quick bursts!
Goering laughs until the tears come, he resumes, slow and serious voice, the killer, in future if ever your inveterate drinking prevents you from carrying out the mission of an officer of the Reich you will get six months’ latrine fatigues and be banned from flying, dismiss, and get yourself married fast to some good young German girl, we need children. Ulrich does not understand everything Goering tells him but he does not try to defend himself, he does drink a lot, he is let off lightly, usually an order to appear before the fat man turns out rather more painfully, he reckons he’s been fortunate, he’ll follow the Marshal’s recommendation, get married.